Anna Meine The Backseat Following an extended period of bouncing from job to job, my dad chose to start a company with one of his old friends in Montana. Although our family had relocated quite a few times before and I was used to moving, we had always stayed in the Seattle area. It was all I knew, it was my home. And now, at eleven years old, I was faced with the prospect of leaving altogether. Shortly after announcing his decision, Dad had left Washington and was in some place called Missoula. Our lease was ending so my mom bought a used Mazda which she said she, my older brother and I would be taking on road trip to see family in several states until Dad found a place for us to live. When it was time to leave, I was reluctant to climb into my seat in the back of the Mazda for the first time. The upholstery was plain, grey, and rough to the touch like sandpaper, I thought. I could feel it scratching through my clothes, making me itchy, antsy. I squirmed under the seatbelt, unable to get comfortable. In preparation for the move, and living out of a car indefinitely, we had stripped our belongings down to the bare minimum, which were now piled to the ceiling of the cramped sedan. A wall of suitcases in the center of the backseat isolated my brother and I from each other. Up front, Mom was kept company by a stack of boxes in the passenger's seat and her Beatles' top hits tape in the cassette player. We headed south through Oregon and California, stopping occasionally to visit family and friends along the way or stay the night at a cheap motel. My mom tried to keep the mood positive during the long drives. Every once in awhile she would break the raw silence by blurting out something hopeful, using words like ''expedition'' or ''adventure.'' But it fell mostly on deaf ears. I felt trapped in my blocked off section of the backseat, listening to my mom play the same Beatles tape again and again and again. I couldn't wait to get out of the car on the many pit stops that punctuated our trip. My attitude began to change, however, as we drove through the Nevada desert on the strip of I-80 between Reno and Elko. Somewhere between replays of The Beatles' Yesterday and Let it Be, I started to adjust to the idea of living in the car, of being on the road. I began to realize my mom was right, as cheesy as it sounded, we were on an adventure. For now, I could forget my doubts about moving to city I had never even heard of before I was told we would be moving there. I rested my head against the window and allowed myself to be hypnotized by the miles of seemingly endless desert in all directions. It was hot and the air conditioner in our ''new'' car could barely cough out enough cool air to make it tolerable, but somehow I didn't mind. However, my new found sense of freedom didn't last. A little over a month into our travels, Dad called to tell us he found a house. We immediately packed in to the Mazda one last time and headed North to our new home..